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Why, in that moment, do I think of my new rose-haired friend? The thought of her at the table with us, striking up a conversation with my mother or Caleb’s wife, Briar, is so ridiculous it nearly makes me laugh. Those tiny ripped shorts in our dining room. Tattoos and piercings at this table. They’d all think I lost my mind—especially the man at the head of the table.
I’m sure the conversation would be awkward and hilarious at the same time. She’d make my mother blush and my father scowl. Lucas and Caleb would be obsessed with her if only for the chaos she would wreak on our home. If Isaac were here, he’d adore her.
Get out of your head, Adam.
Maybe I should just take Lucy out. I bet dating a successful career woman would be easier anyway. No need to impress her. Things could be simple. Just going through the motions. Sex, intimacy, affection—all surface level, but that would be perfect. It wouldn’t require much. It would tick all the necessary boxes.
My father would most certainly approve.
That’s what I need—a safe, practical relationship, even if it doesn’t sound all that exciting.
“Perhaps you could ask her to the charity dinner next month,” my mother adds persistently, just as I take the last bite on my plate.
“I’ll think about it,” I reply, although I could very well just tell my mother to coordinate it. Like a little matchmaker, she’d have Lucy’s mother on the phone in minutes and the whole thing would be meticulously orchestrated without an ounce of effort from me.
But I don’t. Something holds me back.
I’m not exactly sure what. Maybe it’s the energy required in dating. Or the fact that as beautiful as Lucy Clayborn is, I don’t find myself particularly attracted to her. I haven’t once reminisced about the shape of her lips or the playful cadence of her voice.
Perhaps what’s really stopping me is the pink-foiled business card in my wallet—and the opportunity it represents.
Four
Sage
“Your ass looks so fucking good in those shorts,” Brett says as he steps into the office.
I’m bent over the desk, running the numbers on this month’s expenses for the hundredth time, but they’re not adding up and it’s making me frustrated as hell.
Brett comes up behind me and grinds against my ass, but I hardly pay him any attention.
“Babe, where is this extra fifty grand coming from?”
He ignores my question and buries his nose in my hair.
“I told you we made a shit ton in liquor sales last night,” he replies, mumbling into my neck. Warmth trickles down my spine as I feel him stiffening behind his zipper.
It’s making my head foggy as I reply. “But I have the receipts for that. The sales are accounted for.”
“You must be missing something then,” he replies. His fingers dance along my ribs, and I giggle and squirm in response. He knows how ticklish I am, and he’s teasing me on purpose.
“Brett,” I whine, my attention wavering from the expense report to the way he’s warming my body up.
“I need you, baby.” His deep voice growls against my ear, and I quickly lose my strict resolve. Within seconds, I’ve lost track of the reports, and I’m letting him shimmy down my shorts. Then he thrusts in hard from behind me.
My fingers crinkle the papers on the desk as I hold on to the surface to give me leverage.
“I have the best girl in this whole fucking club. Look at you, princess. So fucking good for me.”
He’s always been talkative during sex, and I shut my eyes tight as he pounds into me, trying to focus on my own orgasm before he gets his.
I love his praise—I do. It’s just…lost its allure.
Every time it’s the same.Princess.Best in the club. I think it would turn me on more if I believed it…or heard it any other time than during sex.
I’m in my head too much, and before I know it, he’s shuddering and moaning through his release and I’m left wishing for my own.
Fuck.
